


Knocking on Heaven's Door

by ladykardasi



Category: Star Trek: The Original Series
Genre: M/M, Unhappy Ending
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2004-11-01
Updated: 2004-11-01
Packaged: 2020-06-23 14:45:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,682
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19703527
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ladykardasi/pseuds/ladykardasi
Summary: Kirk is ill and he knows it, but does he tell anyone else? – of course not.





	Knocking on Heaven's Door

**Author's Note:**

> Warnings: Not a happy story. I have no idea what compelled me to write this.

Jim Kirk had always called Spock a “control freak”, albeit affectionately. As he grew older he realized that he, too, was a control freak of sorts. It bothered him that he had come to this realization so late in life, but aging was a complete loss of control and he didn’t like it. Knowing there were fewer days ahead of him than behind was unnerving.

The signs of aging were small at first, in the form of common things like a receding hairline and a thicker waist. Aching joints and vision that was no longer perfect were also things he noticed. But those were signs you needed to accept, and even expect, as you grew older. He tried not to think about it and for the most part, he succeeded. Seeing Spock age much slower was difficult, though, and Kirk was sad to realize that he sometimes resented his _t’hy’la_ for that advantage. A Vulcan’s lifespan was double that of a human’s and Spock still looked young, strong and healthy. Kirk admitted that it was hypocritical of him to be envious; because seeing Spock growing old was not something he would have enjoyed either.

Although he had difficulty adjusting to the signs of his advancing age, and had started using a hair unit, he didn’t let it bother him too much. But then came other changes, the kind he was afraid of. The whole thing started with an uncomfortable twinge at the upper left side of his body, just below the lung. The twinge had grown insistent and it became more difficult to ignore as time passed, and yet he continued to do so. If he ignored it, it might go away … His body had never let him down, and it was the one thing he had always been able to count on in life, apart from Spock. Maybe it would come through for him this time as well? Fear hadn’t been part of it – not at first, but in time, it had buried its sharp claws into his mind in a way that he had never before experienced. Knowing that something was terribly wrong, he started reading up on various diseases and became quite proficient at diagnosing himself. He had his suspicions …

As the days passed and the pain wouldn’t leave, he managed to get a hold of a medical scanner. He still had connections in the ‘Fleet, but he didn’t use the device at once, still hoping the pain would go away.

It didn’t.

Instead it spread through his side, into his gut, and sometimes became so severe he couldn’t think of anything else. Painkillers weren’t helping much and it was becoming increasingly difficult to hide the pain from Spock and Bones. McCoy was dogging him almost daily to come in for a physical, but Kirk was no longer a Starfleet officer and he didn’t have to do everything McCoy told him, so he stubbornly avoided his old friend. As McCoy was no longer a Starfleet Chief Medical Officer either, he didn’t have the same control over James T. Kirk as he used to.

That gave Kirk a sense of satisfaction. Some part of him enjoyed being able to spite his old friend, the old friend that often had bullied him into coming to Sickbay even when Kirk had known he didn’t need it. But deep inside Kirk knew that his stubbornness didn’t just stem from a satisfaction of going against Bones, of doing what he wanted, rather than what he should. It was also because of that fear. That fear made him back away every time he touched the medical scanner hidden in his bedside table, the one place where he knew that Spock would never look.

Kirk went to the bedside table once more and brushed his fingers over the smooth, metallic surface of the scanner. He was afraid. So afraid that the fear eclipsed every rational thought. Logic had left the building. Kirk swallowed against the dryness in his mouth and closed his eyes. Fear won out again and he pushed the drawer shut, because despite what medicine had accomplished over the years, there were still illnesses that the doctors could do nothing about. Some part of Kirk told him that this was one of them. The symptoms were so clear, and when the tell-tale rash appeared on his chest and abdomen, the fear grew in intensity, and Kirk knew he didn’t need the scanner to confirm what he already knew.

He tried to tell himself that he’d had a long, fulfilling life, and yet he raged inside. He wanted more, wanted a longer life, more love, more adventure, more time – with Spock. But a stubborn voice in the back of his mind kept saying; “This is it, Captain of the Universe, this is death knocking at your door.”

He tried to ignore the knowledge. By doing so, as long as the pain was bearable, he could pretend that everything was all right and he could go on with his life the way that he always had. He could spend time with Spock – even though his lover’s dark eyes followed him worriedly wherever he went – and he could not go to the doctor and not subject himself to all the unpleasant examinations he knew they were going to torture him with if he ever allowed them to get their paws on him.

It was difficult to hide anything from Spock, though, and as his stomach troubles increased it became impossible. When Spock asked about it, he kept blaming the food, kept saying that he had eaten something he didn’t agree with. Spock’s eyes followed him knowingly, but he said nothing. Still, Kirk knew that Spock knew. He had always had an iron stomach, and a little onion, or some spicy Vulcan dish had never bothered him before. Now, he found himself avoiding anything that wasn’t bland or easy on the intestines. And the dizziness that came over him from time to time was difficult to blame on food. So, Spock, the ever-watchful Vulcan, surely knew.

“Jim,” Spock said one day, but Kirk shot him a hard look, the look that told the Vulcan that Kirk wouldn’t listen to what he had to say, the look that said that he’d walk out that door and never come back if Spock persisted.

Kirk knew that he would never do such a thing of course. Why leave Spock if his days were numbered? Why leave the only person that gave his life meaning? Why leave the one who made the pain tolerable? The one whom he loved so much that he clung to a life where pain was so all consuming?

Still, Spock didn’t insist. Perhaps he, too, felt that Damocles’ Sword hanging over them. Perhaps he, too, knew there was nothing to be done? He had seen the rash, after all, and knew there was nothing to be done to the insidious disease that was spreading through Kirk’s body.

As time went by, he became so ill that he could no longer stay in denial. Throwing up sometimes several times a day was something you couldn’t wave off as simply as a mere cold or a headache. And then came the day when Spock would no longer have it and Kirk had to go see a doctor after all.

He was subjected to all those horrible examinations, as though the doctors were trying to disprove the distinct rash, and all the other signs. Why did they bother? Kirk tried to protest, but McCoy wouldn’t have it. He was put through the whole battery of tests – X-rays that made him feel dizzy, a constant poking and prodding that no scanner seemed able to replace. They took blood samples, stool samples, urine samples and whatever other samples the doctors could think of. He felt humiliated, scared and uncomfortable, and most of all he felt afraid, because no matter what the doctors did, he knew. He knew there was nothing they could do.

Dizziness overcame him while lying on the bed. He closed his eyes, fighting the nausea and he reached for Spock. His lover was there, as always, and the Vulcan held Kirk’s hand with both of his. The warmth of the dry hands clasping his, the comfort and the strength of the Vulcan mind calmed him and drove away the symptoms of the illness for just a few precious moments.

“I love you, you know? I always have, and I always will,” Kirk said.

“T’hy’la …,” Spock began. Kirk blinked away his own tears when he saw moisture in the corners of his lover’s eyes. “T’hy’la,” Spock repeated, unable to say anything else.

“Spock,” he said, finally able to talk. But when he opened his eyes, this time, it was Spock who shook his head. It was barely noticeable, but Kirk understood, and he closed his mouth around the words that he had meant to speak.

There would be no more talking, no more goodbyes. The love they felt for one another was deep and eternal. They both knew that Spock would go on, but only half the man he was now. What was, was, and there was nothing they could do.

Later, when McCoy entered Sickbay, his familiar face was set in stone and Kirk saw the answer there that he had kept inside for so long.

“Would it have mattered if I had come to you sooner?” Kirk felt compelled to ask.

McCoy shook his head. “As I’m sure you already knew, it is the Scorpion Disease, Jim,” he said.

The Scorpion Disease, an insidious form of cancer had developed after the Eugenics Wars. The cells of the body mutated. It was a rare disease, but fatal. As Kirk had known for so long, there was no cure.

* * *

Kirk’s body was laid to rest by the sea almost two weeks later. His old crewmates, a good deal of Starfleet personnel and his nephew Peter mourned him. When everyone else had left, a tall, dark Vulcan remained on the beach, allowing the spray from the sea to hide his tears.


End file.
